Boston ? We gather here once more to celebrate Aug. 26, the anniversary of the passage of women’s suffrage, with a time-honored tradition. Our one-woman jury dispenses the annual Equal Rites Awards to those very special folks who worked hard over the past 12 months to set back the cause of equality.

The awards are always the subject of intense competition. But never more so than this year when the world seemed to divide between international fundamentalists who want to keep women veiled and Internet spammers who want to unveil them on your computer screen.

But enough of that. It’s time for the envelopes, please.

We must begin with the Boys Will Be Playboys Award, which goes to the patriarch of soft porn, Hugh Hefner, on the 50th anniversary of his magazine. In celebrating a half-century of centerfolds without ever getting out of his bathrobe, Hef said, “I was trying to give sex a good name.” Like, say, sexism? As a reward, we ship a new pair of pants and a jacket to the mansion so Hef can dress up and grow up.

While we are talking about an appetite for nudeness, let us dispense the Our Bodies, Our Buffets award. This goes to Manhattan’s Raw Catering, a company that uses naked women as serving platters for sushi and other uncooked delicacies. For this eating disorder we give them three stars for bad taste.

Taste? Did we say taste? Rap artists have a lock on the hotly contested Misogyny in Music Award. This year it goes to Ludacris, whose tamer lyrics warn a girl: “I’ve been drankin’ and bustin’ two/ and I been thankin’ of bustin’ you/Upside ya motherf —– forehead.” Well, you get the drift and he gets the prize for making abuse into an art form.

At least they didn’t make it into a marching song. The real Battle of the Sexes Prize is flying to the Air Force Academy. While women were fighting in Iraq against the enemy, cadets were fighting the hostile environment in which sexual assault was a form of hazing and women who reported rape were penalized for having sex. We send the academy an old and tattered peace symbol and best wishes for reform.

Anyone want a Battle of the Species Prize? The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals win for an ad campaign that compared the serial killing of 15 women to the “serial killings going on every day in slaughter houses and on pig farms.” We would send PETA the missing link, except it may be the missing link.

While we are on the links, let’s award the Superstar of Sexism Award to two in the most gentlemanly — and we used that word literally — of sports: golf. Hootie Johnson fought to keep Augusta National Golf Club free from the polluting influence of women members while Vijay Singh hoped Annika Sorenstam would miss the cut for a PGA event “because she doesn’t belong out here.” We award them both a bad case of the yips.

On to the Dubious Equality Award, bestowed annually on a woman who has labored for the most unworthy bit of progress. No one deserves this honor more than Huda Salih Mahdi Ammash, aka Mrs. Anthrax, who is cited as the head of Iraq’s biological weapons program. She won a place for herself as the Five of Hearts in the most wanted pack of cards. We can’t trump that.

As for that other card, the Knight in Shining Armor Prize goes to George Bush for many reasons, but especially for that moment when he referred to Laura as “the lump in the bed.” Be still my heart. We send him a suggestion … to send her roses.

Each year we hand out the Blind Justice Award to the most deserving judge. Today, however, we give it to a judicial nominee, the most sexist in a highly competitive field. James Leon Holmes, the former head of Arkansas Right to Life, opined that the duty of a wife is “to subordinate herself to her husband.” Holmes’ nomination has stalled and we bless him with a lifetime tenure in legal limbo.

Meanwhile, the Raging Hormonal Imbalance Award goes overseas for the first time to Seiichi Ota, a Japanese lawmaker. Speaking on his country’s declining population, he defended a gang rape because “the people who do it are still virile and that is OK. I think that might make them close to normal.” We send foreign aid to help our Japanese sisters reduce the population of politicians by one.

And while we are in a rage, let’s give the Post-Feminist Booby Prize to shock-jock Tom Leykis, best known for his advice on how to get “more tail for less money.” Leykis justified broadcasting the name of Kobe Bryant’s accuser as a feminist strike against a “paternalistic policy.” We offer him our petit-point pillow inscribed: With Friends Like These …

While we are broadcasting, the Media Ms-Adventure Award goes to the folks at Spike TV, the new all-Mars, no-Venus cable station, for their first female star. Who is this cableman’s dream gal? Truly a cartoon figure. Erotica Jones is an exotic dancer by night, a sexy superhero by later night, and we send Spike some anti-Viagra.

Another prescription? Let’s not forget the Male-Practice Award. At a hearing, Dr. Harry J. Metropol dismissed as frivolous the complaints of a woman whose breasts were removed by mistake. Why, said Metropol, with breast surgery she’d be better than new: “It won’t be National Geographic, hanging to her knees. It’ll be nice, firm breasts.” Some nice fresh replacements for the doc’s private parts will be wending their way. Happy landing.

And while we are male-practicing, what can we give Louisville surgeon Michael Guiler, who branded his patient’s uterus with the initials of his alma mater? A post-doc in sensitivity training? How about the Dissed Alumni Prize?

This ERA committee usually gives out a Patriarch of the Year Award. Due to special circumstances, however, we have replaced it with a Daddy’s Little Girl Award to two daughters of Saddam Hussein. Their murderous father even had their husbands killed, but these girlchilds still describe him “a very good father. Loving. Has a big heart.” For that ms-guided loyalty we send them videotapes of Daddy Dearest’s victims.

We still have room on our dance card for the International Ayatollah Award. It goes to the Islamic court in Nigeria that sentenced Amina Lawal to death by stoning for adultery. As this young mother appeals her fate — due Wednesday — the alleged man goes scot-free because Koranic law requires four witnesses to prove a man guilty. We send a DNA testing kit and cast the first stone at the court.

Finally the Ms-Ad-Ventures Award. The prize for the worst ad, always competitive, goes to the folks selling Barely There underwear. These ads feature a young, buff model in her skivvies calling herself Susan B. Anthony. What would the redoubtable Ms. Anthony say about her historic role? Dear Susan, when we put you on a pedestal, we didn’t know you’d be barely there.

Ellen Goodman is a columnist for Washington Post Writers Group.